First Day of Summer

The first day of summer

arrives like a maniac to a

dinner party he wasn’t

invited to but everyone

expected.

His eyes are wild,

his hair is a mess,

he yells a lot, he wants

to play electric guitar

while surfing.

He makes it hard to sit

around the dinner table,

the butter softens, chairs

are sticky. Everyone is

slightly uncomfortable.

But he’s always forgiven.

Women love him.

Men want to be him.

Children run to him like

he’s made of candy.

He wants to stay up late,

he wants to listen to the

ocean at midnight and the

wind blow over the fields,

He tells dirty jokes.

He’s never wrong,

yet he can be ceaselessly cruel,

and go on for endless hours telling

stories that have no point over warming

beers and fruity island drinks.

He smokes, he stalls, he lingers,

he tickles, he teases, he incites

revolution, he demands attention,

he encourages nudity, he needs

basking.

He’ll come to the party,

get everyone laughing and

as soon as everyone is nice and

comfortable with him, used to him;

he’ll leave.

In his wake are summer flings,

several poor choices, sun burns,

empty wallets, liver failure,

riots, chaos and general unease.

And we can’t wait till he shows up again.